


To the Grave

by kawaikunai



Category: Togainu no Chi
Genre: M/M, motoaki week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaikunai/pseuds/kawaikunai
Summary: A collection of ficlets for MotoAki week.





	1. the Past

It’s when he takes a long drag of his cigarette that he feels like he can breathe, exhaling a cloud of smoke ahead. With the manuscript of his article sent in the nick of time, he and Akira can spend the rest of the night as they please until their flight in the morning. 

He’s leaning against the wall on a balcony that overlooks the city they’re situated in. Their hotel isn’t exactly the nicest or fanciest, but it’s got a bed and a bathroom, and it’s not pricy either, so he’s not going to complain. 

If anything, the building is a reflection of the rest of the city. Worn down, damaged from the outside, graffiti covered walls if you peak from around the corner. It’s probably one of the nicer buildings where they are. Earlier explorations of the town lead to discoveries of dilapidated buildings, many abandoned, especially on the outskirts, where crumbled asphalt, brick, and garbage littered the landscape ahead of them.

It’s not much of a surprise considering the topic of the article he’s been commissioned for. How civil war and political unrest have left this once prosperous city in shambles.

It’s not the tension, filth, or even the danger about that’s made him feel slightly uncomfortable these past few days. If anything, it’s how familiar it all feels.

Sure, the people around here don’t speak Japanese, and they aren’t in any danger of running into line users, Gunji, Kiriwar, or, god forbid, Arbitro. But every look around gives him flashbacks to the time he spent in Toshima, trying to avenge the death of his wife and young son. Back then he’d envisioned some sort of decisive final showdown where he’d take down the monster that destroyed his family.

He chuckles now at that thought, the idea that he had it in him to extinguish another human life. The moment of time had come, gun in his hand, target clearly in sight, and he couldn’t do it. Not just because Nano was just a person like him, a person with awful fortune and a past he can’t even begin to imagine, but because of another, unexpected obstacle.

“Kill me,” he’d said. He’d taken Motomi’s hands in his and wrapped them around his neck, no resistance, eyes serious, and waited. Motomi had squeezed, just for a moment, seduced by the idea of revenge. 

However, in the end, he couldn’t hurt Akira. 

Akira, who’d somehow managed to capture his heart without even Motomi noticing until it was too late. By the time Toshima had collapsed with the impending civil war in sight, he’d already decided to take Akira to the grave with him, unable to envision a future without him.

Of course, that hadn’t proved to be without its challenges either. Akira had grown up in a time where affection, like many things, was scarce, and his utter astonishment when it came to things like physical affection was something Motomi tried his hardest to extinguish. He vowed to give Akira all the love he deserved now that they were together. He hopes that someday, the concept won’t feel so foreign to him.

Motomi takes a moment to crush the tiny stub of a cigarette under his shoe and light another. He’s looking forward to moving on and leaving this place, which only brings back mostly unsavoury memories. It isn’t such a bad thing though, to think of the past like this and feel grateful that things have changed, grateful that he can sleep peacefully at night, with Akira in his arms. 

Their next assignment is in Paris. He thinks it’ll be nice to take Akira somewhere romantic, even if the atmosphere is lost on him. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the sliding door opening. Akira steps out into the balcony and turns to him, arms crossed.

“What’s taking you so long?”

“Oops, sorry, I got a little lost in my thoughts,” Motomi says with a smile, “as soon as I finish this up-” he lightly flicks his cigarette, “we’ll go and grab some food.”

“Fine,” Akira says. Although Motomi expects him to head back inside and wait, Akira stays and watches as he lets out another puff of smoke. 

Before Motomi can ask if he needs anything, Akira steps over and plucks the cigarette out of his fingers. Motomi blinks in surprise, and before long he feels Akira’s lips press against his. The kiss is long but chaste, though Motomi is frozen in place and unable to return the kiss properly. Akira doesn’t say anything after, simply inserting the cigarette back into Motomi’s lips. Akira gives him a small smile as he walks off, closing the balcony door behind him. Motomi’s jaw nearly drops, but he stops himself in time to save his cigarette. 

It doesn’t take long for Motomi to decide to abandon that endeavour. He stomps that cigarette out as well, ignoring the fact that he only barely got started on it. After all, there’s no point in mulling over the past when there’s so much waiting for him in the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of trouble coming up with something for the prompt, so sorry if this story is a little lame. Thankfully, ideas for the other prompts came much more easily!


	2. Healing

It’s not often, but when his dreams are full of vivid memories, it always seems to hit him right in the chest, leaving him feeling constricted and tense, almost as though he has to fight for every breath.

Keisuke.

It’s long over, he thinks.

Keisuke’s smile, his determination to help him-

It’s too late now to regret anything.

The look on Keisuke’s face when Akira lost his composure and started yelling-

How many years have passed?

That look on his face, the face of someone who’d taken line-

Akira inhales sharply, holding back the sob that threatens to escape. The room is completely dark- it’s way too early to be up like this. 

He hates it, hates dwelling on this, hates thinking about how he lost Keisuke- failed him- but it’s almost like a dam has burst and there’s no way to keep it all in. 

Akira wipes at his eyes with his palms. He forces himself to take deep, even breaths, but struggles to keep himself from shuddering at the exhale. When he feels movement behind him, he stiffens.

“…Akira?”

Motomi’s voice is groggy, heavy with sleep. Akira swallows loudly, having hoped not to wake him, considering they’d spent all day trekking through a national park, in the USA no less. He’s tired, but Motomi must be more so, the time difference always seems to hit him far harder. 

“‘m fine,” Akira says, “just a bad dream,” to his irritation, his voice cracks at the last word, ending with an uneasy lilt.

“Oi,” Motomi says, sounding suddenly more alert, shifting on the bed so that he’s leaning closer, “Akira, what’s wrong?”

Akira doesn’t answer, tears welling up. He furrows his brows and wipes at his eyes in frustration, letting out a quiet whimper.

“Akira,” Motomi says, voice gentle but tinged with concern. He encircles his arms around Akira’s waist and pulls him closer, chin nudging at Akira’s shoulder.

Slowly, reluctantly, Akira rolls over and faces him.

Motomi strokes his cheek, “what’s wrong?” He asks.

Silence permeates the air before Akira answers, “I- Keisuke-“

It’s all he can get out before he feels that tightness in his chest again. He covers his face with his hands and tries to keep the sound of his sniffling to a minimum. Motomi pulls Akira into his chest, giving his back a comforting rub while placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

“It’s okay,” Motomi murmurs, “just let it all out.”

With a sharp inhale, Akira scrunches up his face trying to keep himself calm, but it only takes one sob for the rest to pour out. He clings to the material of Motomi’s shirt while crying, soaking it through with tears. Motomi pays it no mind, silently stroking Akira’s hair.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, how many tears have been shed, but by the end of it all his nose feels congested and his eyes are swollen. 

“…better?” Motomi asks, once Akira’s breathing has turned steady.

Akira nods into his chest. 

“You should try to get some rest now,” Motomi says, still stroking his hair gently like before. 

All Akira can reply with is a grunt. He’s always been bad with words, especially in moments like this, when he wants to express how grateful he is, thankful for Motomi’s kindness and warmth. Instead, he wraps his arms around Motomi tight and presses a kiss to his collarbone. He hopes that he gets it.

“Good night Akira,” Motomi sighs, returning his embrace.

Akira closes his eyes. The familiar scent of cigarettes along with Motomi’s arms wrapped around him are enough to lull him into a more peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite scenes in the game was when Akira broke down in front of Motomi. I love that he feels comfortable enough with him that he can express those feelings so openly, so ofc I was like "well, this theme is the perfect excuse to make him cry again" hehe


	3. Domestic Life

It’s a sound he’s never heard Motomi make before.

It’s something between a yell and a gasp, punctuated by him nearly stumbling over from how fast he moved. 

Akira squints, trying to understand what just happened- and why. His answer comes to sight soon enough, buzzing around the room as it flaps its wings furiously. It lands on a wall not too far from Motomi, its dark brown exoskeleton providing a stark contrast against the cream colour of the walls.

A cockroach. 

Akira watches silently as Motomi reaches for a nearby magazine that had been left on the couch. Motomi never takes his eyes off the bug. Approaching it with careful steps, he rolls the magazine up and holds it like a baseball bat. Every move he makes is silent and steady. He braces himself- ready to strike- when the cockroach springs towards him.

He makes that noise again (which Akira is starting to find very amusing) before jumping back. 

The cockroach makes its way to the coffee table this time, landing atop of some books. Motomi doesn’t even make it two step closer before it becomes airborne once more. This time the noise he lets out is closer to a yelp, and Akira can no longer control himself, a snort escaping.

Motomi pauses and turns to him, brows knit, “what are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” Akira says, though judging by Motomi’s frown he seems to have caught on, “need help there, Ossan?”

Motomi clicks his tongue, as though offended, “I can take care of this,” he says.

Akira hums in response, not quite convinced. Ignoring his doubt, Motomi approaches the insect once more. The cockroach is crawling on top of the couch, perhaps searching for stray crumbs. Predictably, it decides to launch itself at Motomi’s face once he gets within a foot of it. He makes another weird noise, but actually manages to fall onto his backside this time. The cockroach buzzes around the room, unfazed. 

Deciding to free Motomi from his misery, Akira calmly picks up a glass and a sheet of paper that had been set on the coffee table.

He doesn’t hesitate to walk up to the bug, which is currently resting against the window. He slams the cup over it and slides the sheet of paper underneath, successfully encasing it. 

“Ossan, can you get the window for me?” Akira calls over his shoulder. Motomi, who is currently gaping at him, eventually pulls himself together and walks over. He unlatches the window, allowing Akira to set the cockroach free. It flies off into the distance, and Motomi wastes no time in quickly shutting the window again. 

“…heh,” Akira says, unable to stop the smirk creeping onto his face.

“what,” Motomi mumbles, looking more than slightly sulky.

“Didn’t think you were so scared of bugs.”

“I’m not afraid of them, that one just- just caught me by surprise,” Motomi says, crossing his arms.

“Then I guess it won’t bother you that there’s another one on your hair.”

The moment the words leave Akira’s mouth, Motomi stiffens, eyes widening. His expression tears Akira’s self control to shreds, leaving Akira a snickering mess.

“Akira- you…!” Motomi suddenly grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him in, shoving their cheeks together.

“Ack- quit it Ossan! It scratches,” Akira squirms in his grip, locked in thanks to his surprisingly muscular arms.

“This is what you get for playing a prank like that,” Motomi says, doubling his efforts of rubbing his scruff against Akira’s face, Akira flailing uselessly in his arms. 

Next time, Akira thinks, he’ll let Motomi deal with the bugs himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought the idea of motomi not being able to handle bugs was hilarious LMAO  
> save him akira


	4. Adventures

When Motomi had said the word “Egypt”, the only things that had flashed through Akira’s mind were vague images of pyramids and sandy dunes. 

Upon their arrival to Cairo he realizes that his expectations were a little on the naive, touristy side. After taking a taxi to their hotel, Motomi had suggested they step outside and explore a bit. The city is bustling to say the least, sidewalks filled with passerby and roads congested. It’s reminiscent of Japan in some ways, what with all the people around and the thick, humid air. It’s a lot louder though. People here aren’t afraid of speaking at full volume it seems, and he’s surrounded by the sounds of a foreign tongue and horns honking from the streets. 

He can’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed, unsure of where to look first or what direction to walk. There’s always an adjustment period to be had when entering a new country.

Motomi on the other hand, is walking ahead with confident strides. He winds his way around the meandering locals on the sidewalk, as if he knows exactly where he needs to be. Akira isn’t far behind, keeping his eyes solely on Motomi’s back. There is a sizeable amount people here, and Akira isn’t confident that he can communicate with them if he loses his sight of his boyfriend.

Motomi checks over his shoulders every few seconds or so as well, ensuring Akira remains close by. When Akira gets close enough, he reaches for Motomi’s hand and laces their fingers together. Some of the tightness in his chest subsides when he gets a comforting squeeze back. Motomi stops them in front of what looks to be some sort of shop. It’s hard to say for sure, since there are no windows that show the inside, but merely plastered signs and pictures surrounding the door, all in a script Akira has no ability to read.

“This should be fine,” Motomi says, nodding to himself. He grabs the handle and tugs the door open, gesturing for Akira to go in first. After a moment of hesitation, Akira steps inside. He’s instantly greeted with foggy air. As he inhales, it’s obvious it’s some sort of smoke. The inside of the shop is set up with chairs and tables. The patrons seem to be doing a mix of things, chatting, eating, drinking, as well as smoking… something. 

Akira freezes when what appears to be a worker at the shop approaches them. Words spill out of his mouth, though all Akira can do in response is stare blankly. Motomi puts his hand on Akira’s shoulder and steps in front of him.

He and the shop keeper start to communicate in a mixture of gestures and broken English. To Akira’s amazement, they seem to reach an understanding, as he and Motomi are led to a table and handed two menus.

Luckily, the menus have photos, so Akira simply points to what he thinks looks most appealing when the shopkeep returns to their table. Motomi does the same.

Their drinks arrive quickly. Akira takes a slow sip, going in for another gulp once he finds that it’s palatable. Unsurprisingly, the weather is on the hot side, and walking in a crowd isn’t exactly conducive to cooling off. After only a few seconds he’s nearly halfway through his drink, it’s ice cold and pleasantly sweet, though he has no idea what the pink concoction is made of.

Motomi is sitting in the chair beside him, drinking what seems to be some sort of coffee. When their eyes meet, Motomi offers a relaxed smile.

“Feeling alright?”

Akira nods, placing the glass back on the table, “…how do you always manage to find places like this?”

“Hm?” Motomi scratches his chin before breaking out into a grin, “you just have to know what to look for- doing research in advance helps too.”

“Research?” Before Akira can ask for clarification, a large, glass, almost vase-like object is placed in front of them. He stares at it, confused. The worker places what look like rocks on the top, smoke emanating, before setting down some sort of attached hose on the table. Motomi sits up straight, nodding at the man as thanks. He eagerly grabs at the hose and reaches for a plastic nib, placing it on top.

He leans back, in his chair, taking notice of the look on Akira’s face.

“It’s a waterpipe,” he says, “back in the day you could find these in Japan too- before the war. Want to try?” He holds out the hose to Akira, who decides to accept it. He’s not a chain smoker the way Motomi is, but he’ll have the occasional cigarette. He takes the hose into his mouth and inhales deeply. The water in the middle of the pipe bubbles as he breathes inwards. It feels light and has a fruity sort of tinge. When he finally breathes out, the smoke he releases is a satisfyingly large cloud. 

“How do you like it?” Motomi asks, leaning his arm against the table.

“Tastes kind of fruity,” Akira comments.

“I think I got grape,” Motomi says, “at least that’s what the picture looked like.”

Akira hums and decides to take another puff, slower this time, to savour the flavour.

“Nice, huh?” Motomi looks extremely pleased with himself, as he always is when he introduces him to something enjoyable. Akira raises an eyebrow. Instead of answering, he decides to smoke for a little longer. 

A minute passes before Motomi speaks again.

“…Hey, you know you’re supposed to share that right?” There’s a hint of a whine in Motomi’s tone, though Akira pays it no mind. Instead he holds his breath at the inhale, keeping the smoke trapped inside. He then reaches over and takes Motomi’s chin in his hand and guides his face closer to his own. When their lips meet, it takes a bit of nudging on Akira’s part to get Motomi to part his mouth. As soon as he does, Akira exhales the smoke into him and pulls away. Motomi sits still, mostly unmoving, though he does gently breathe out the remainder of the smoke left inside his mouth.

“Doesn’t really taste like grape,” Akira says, handing the hose over.

Motomi takes the hose away, cheeks pink, mumbling that as long as it tastes good that’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never thought i'd have the chance to throw an otp into my home country but motoaki is the perfect pair, considering they travel all over :3c
> 
> i thought it'd be fun if they smoked shisha together, especially since i'm sure motomi would enjoy it! the drink akira tried is made of soaked hibiscus petals sweetened with syrup and is called karkadei (i have no idea how to spell it in english so that's my best try LMAO)


	5. the Kitchen

For a moment, Motomi wonders if this was a good idea after all. 

At times like these, fresh ingredients are a precious commodity. Luckily enough, he’s more than experienced when it comes to bartering for supplies. With a little effort on his part, he was able to gather all the necessities- rice, eggs, ketchup- he’s even lucky enough to have gotten his hands on an (albeit measly) bit of chicken.

In the past, cooking came easily. Of course, that was when it didn’t cost extraordinary amounts of cash to eat anything other than artificially flavoured nutrition blocks. He finds that he’s a little rusty at this, each movement slightly unsure. He frowns when the gooey innards of the egg gets on the tips of his thumbs- he can still remember back when he could crack these one handed without so much as a mess. 

Regardless, food is food he supposes, and anything is better than solids. He shudders at the idea of them, the thought of the chemical taste leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He decides to focus on the task at hand instead, carefully pouring the rice and chicken mixture onto the egg. He manoeuvres the pan and spatula unsteadily, years without practice leaving his movements jerky and unsure. When he plops the creation onto a plate, he looks it over and scratches the back of his head.

It really doesn’t look half bad. Sure it’s a bit lumpy and misshapen, but it certainly looks edible enough.

He nods and decides that it’ll be his serving before working on the next plate. This time he manages to crack the eggs much more cleanly. He’s more careful as he shapes the egg with his spatula this time. When he plates the second serving, he smiles in triumph. This one is much more even and refined looking- just up to par with his standards. Not that Akira would comment on presentation. Or even notice, most likely.

Motomi whistles as he adds the final touch, a quick squirt of ketchup to adorn the fluffy egg layer. For his own omurice he squirts it in a simple zigzag pattern. When he gets to Akira’s, he decides to throw in a little extra love by squeezing out a heart pattern. That should get some sort of reaction. While immersed in his chef’s work, he barely notices the sound of the bathroom door opening, nor the steam that escapes the room. It’s only when Akira steps in, hair damp, with a towel hanging off his shoulders, that his attention is diverted.

“Oh- Akira!” He says, turning with a smile. Akira’s brows are furrowed, and he’s wearing his usual sullen frown.

“What’s that smell?” He asks, and for a second Motomi feels a wave of nervousness wash over him. After all, Akira is part of the generation that grew up on solids. Maybe “real” food isn’t exactly the sort of thing he’d like.

Continuing to smile despite his unease, Motomi simply lifts up the plates, “it’s dinner. I made us omurice.”

Akira blinks in surprise, “how’d you get those ingredients?”

“I have my ways,” Motomi says, nodding to the table, “anyway, are you going to eat or not?” He asks, trying to give Akira an out on the off chance he doesn’t want to try it.

“…I’ll eat,” Akira says, finally taking a seat. Motomi sets down their plates, having already prepared the cutlery earlier. His smile widens a little when he sees the way Akira narrows his eyes at the ketchup heart.

By the time Motomi seats himself as well, Akira is still staring at his plate. Motomi clears his throat awkwardly.

“This your first time having the real deal?”

“Mm,” Akira’s answering grunt is short and to the point.

“Well, eat up,” Motomi says casually, acting like he isn’t looking up at Akira every few seconds to gauge his reaction.

Akira slowly sinks his spoon into his dish, scooping up a decent portion of egg and rice. He takes a small bite and chews carefully, eyes widening ever so slightly. He swallows quickly and goes in for another bite, taking in a more generous mouthful. He continues like this, eating without pause as though he can’t get enough. With every bite he takes, he seems to drop at least a grain or two of rice, leaving small crumbs on the table. Somehow, he’s even managed to get some rice and ketchup on his face. In spite of, or maybe because of the messiness, Motomi finds him incredibly adorable 

Motomi himself has only taken a bite or two, too immersed in watching Akira enjoy his food. Motomi leans his cheek against the palm of one of his hands and smiles, “so? How is it?”

Akira pauses and swallows what’s left in his mouth, “’s good,” he says in that flat voice of his, but Akira never lies, and judging by his nearly empty plate, he truly is enjoying it.

Motomi smiles and reaches over, wiping a bit of ketchup-covered rice off Akira’s lower lip, “you got some on you,” he says, the pink dusting Akira’s cheeks making the grain of rice taste even more delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira being a messy eater is so cute... I thought it'd be fun to have him try some real omurice! This is supposed to take place in the midst of the civil war after they leave toshima, hence the ingredients not being easy to come by


End file.
